OWNHILL, COLD WIND WHIPPING AROUND my neck and cheeks and the mighty Eau Rouge (or Raidillon, depending on how pedantic you’re feeling) climbing steeply just out of sight. Suddenly we jerk left and right and the sickening feeling of a pendulum that isn’t going to stop takes over. We’re into a proper tank-slapper now, the driver meekly calls out ‘oh no’ in a hopeless lament and the car whips left again. The rear is now fully unloaded and completely out of sync with hurried, panicked steering inputs, and as the
